Firefight
by Inaho
Summary: Roy, Riza, and guns.
1. Riza

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the nifty State Alchemist pocket watch I bought at con, and you can't have it! 

_ **Firefight** _

_Riza_

* * *

1st Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was cleaning her gun. Rounds still unused carefully dumped into her lap as callous fingers took the machine apart. Each piece slid off and wiped with slow reverence. To an outsider, it would seem like any other military procedure. 

To Jean Havoc, it was a sign that Riza Hawkeye was in turmoil. 

"It's okay, you know." 

A slight jump from the blonde woman showed him just how deeply in thought she was. 

"He's—" He winced, quickly amending himself. He wasn't quite protected enough to risk confronting her about _that_ just yet, not when she still had a firearm within reach. 

"We're _both_ alive, Lieutenant." 

"…I know." 

_…but I had **failed**._

He knew that his superior officer was not the cold trigger-happy woman she appeared to be. He knew the hours she spent at the shooting range, training until she could fire and hit her target at a second's notice, and at the same time, be able to pull back from the trigger at half a second. 

He also knew that Riza Hawkeye worshipped her guns. 

It was not the result of an unhealthy obsession or bloody thirsty intent, but rather an act of desperation. They were not like the Colonel or the Elric brothers, Hawkeye, Falman, Fury, Breda, and himself. They could not create flames from the air or spears from the ground. They had only their own two hands in which to do the bidding of those who would change the world. 

But for Riza Hawkeye, who had taken on a far more dangerous task, normal human power alone was not enough. So through blood and sweat and screams she trained until the gun became her circle and the bullet her alchemy. And with it, she had withstood all that man and science had thrown at her. 

Until now. 

Homunculus. A phenomenon that should not have been possible even in alchemist terms. A being created from magic. An immortal. 

He remembered a few days ago when Fury had appeared with Hawkeye's form requesting new ammunition. How many clips had you entered into Sola…that _monster_, Lieutenant? How many shots before the cold fear gripped your heart and you realized that you could do _nothing_? 

This fight…this _war_…was not for them, they who lived with the limitations of their own bodies, and he silently squeezed the meat of his thighs at this thought. In this place, they were powerless. 

But Jean Havoc knew the 1st Lieutenant just as he knew the rest of his comrades. And he realized as he lay back in his uncomfortable hospital bed, that they would need a lot more guns. 

_Owari_

**Author's Note:** Well, this definately took a different turn than what I had in mind. It was suppose to be two parts, each from Roy and Riza's POV, but then Jean wiggled his way in and wouldn't leave the scene so now you have this instead of Riza. And you can also blame Jean for the lack of RoyRiza. 

Please excuse any inaccuracies regarding the characters or the military. I don't know anything about officer ranking and I'm really tired right now. 

Gah, now I don't know what to do about Roy's part, since it doesn't really fit any more. Any suggestions? 

--- Inaho 


	2. Roy

Disclaimer: See previous chapter...section...thing. Yeah. 

_ **Firefight** _

_Roy _

* * *

Colonel Roy Mustang hated guns. 

He hated the feeling of cold steel against his hands, stealing heat as if it were a demon sucking away his soul. He hated the dead weight that would occasionally bump against his rib cage when he walked, far too close to his heart, even with the leather holster in between. He hated the fact that no matter how much he despised the machines, he wasn't stupid enough to go without one. 

And most of all, he hated the memories. 

Empty eyes clouded with fear. Earth and dust stained by rivers of red. Faces twisted in horror, burned into his memory so that he could still smell the smoky metallic scent that threatened to choke him in his sleep. 

Humans were easy to kill, but ghosts… 

It was why he preferred his brand of alchemy, because fire consumed everything. It charred away flesh and features until all that was left was the same piles of ash and bones. No names, no faces. 

No memories. 

It was for that one relief that he wished to become stronger. Because he knew that his 1st Lieutenant favored her guns. 

And if anything, that made him hate them even more. 

Although he knew the same guns were what had saved him several times in the past, mostly on rainy days, he also knew what one too many kills could do to a man, or in this case, woman. He had seen soldiers break down in the midst of battle, minds torn apart by the sharp crack of bullets as they hit flesh, dreams haunted by the mutilated faces of the dead, ears filled with the tortured screams of the dying. And while his Lieutenant had seemed to survive the horrors of that war, he did not wish to see the day that her vigilant loyalty to him became her downfall. 

Even guns and fire would not save her then. 

And he hated that most of all. 

_Owari _

**Author's Note:** Definately shorter than Riza's part, and definately made a lot less sense, at least I think so. But it had to be done. And now there's one less rabid plot bunny in my head before college. Yaay. 

Oh gods, college. 

--- Inaho 


End file.
